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maybe i’ll get what i want.

maybe.
some day.


maybe soon
i’ll know what i want.
sooner than later is better.


maybe i enjoy eating frozen foods
and protein bars
and McDonald’s for lunch every day.
it’s a choice.

maybe.
just maybe.

maybe one day i’ll have the strength after work
to make a proper meal
that cleans out the fridge
and uses all the sauce
for a change.

maybe.


maybe on the other end of that hotline
she’s laughing at my jokes
and not rolling her eyes
as i am assuming from her uniform replies.
maybe.

maybe i need to slow my roll

and maybe i need to step it to the floor
and go full bore –
Mad Max form –
right now ahead of my fifteenth chance
or i’m too old to learn from my mistakes anymore.
whichever comes before.
maybe.


maybe maybe maybe.
maybe yesterday was already too late

and maybe i’ll grow a third leg.

maybe i’ll croak in a week and maybe
i’ll pass away peacefully in my sleep

and maybe i’ll get rigor with an
endorphin-induced end-of-life dream boner
and an open casket will be out of the question.
kind of hard when you’re already booked
for incineration.

maybe i’ll live another sixty years
and get hit by a bus that mushes my guts
“up and down Park Avenue”
but i’m still alive long enough to call 911
because everyone around is taking photos and such.
a mom in yoga pants snaps a selfie with my carcass:
“say hello to everyone back home!”

maybe i’ll stop saying stupid shit.
maybe.
oh maybe.

maybe i’ll stop playing with my dick.
maybe, sweet maybe.

maybe i’ll stop picking at the blemishes
and maybe, when i do, they’ll stop bleeding
and breeding.
maybe.
it’s possible.

maybe i’ll have something to write soon
that isn’t all my own intimate doom and gloom
and the same two topics with offbeat analog.
maybe that’s a me problem
and has nothing to do with you.
i’m not really sure.
maybe?
maybe’s good.
let’s go with maybe.


i like maybe.


i couldn’t even try and maybe i’ll survive.

maybe i’ll just leave these windows open
when the pressure washers come to clean our building,
just like it says in the management notice not to
even though it’s so fucking hot
we shouldn’t ever stop the portable air conditioning.
what are they going to do?
Japanese-style faked-rape porn video?
how much are we getting paid to participate?
we’re waiting for our new couch to arrive –
just shoot it when my wife and i aren’t in the room.

maybe i was the one who vomited on the elevator.
maybe i’ll go back into renal failure.
isn’t it nice to have dialysis be walking distance away?
maybe, we’ll see.
later than sooner is better, although
it could be a pain at eighty to get there.

and maybe i’ll talk to my co-workers again:
make jokes and be one of their family again,
just like i was in the twenty-tens;
or maybe i’ll keep on keeping to myself
and keep my head down until retirement comes.
perhaps.
perhaps i’ll find another job.

perchance someone will find this site and insist
i’m next to trend.
maybe i couldn’t mentally handle the attention that would bring
and maybe that’s unrealistic of me to think and
maybe i’ve been forgotten and
maybe nothing will happen.
maybe i need to get okay with that soon

and maybe nothing is wrong at all.


but don’t i want more?
don’t we all?
maybe?

maybe one day to write
to be
someone, something great?
one day.
or maybe not at all.

maybe settle and have a baby?
move away from the city
and find something tangible to stand as a legacy?
or maybe i need to honour my family name
now
without delay.

maybe i’ll inure to the one i love
and maybe one who loves me will put up with everything
from now til there is no more.

or maybe i’ll stay put –
crossed arms, crossed legs,
and trust the old stand-by and
wait:
wait for the universe to procreate.
and decades down the road,
when there’s no chance knock at the Senior Centre door,
maybe then i’ll finally learn what it means
to be truly waiting for.

or maybe i’ll suck it up and join a Canasta club.
it’s a choice.

maybe save the date.
maybe.

//wd 6.6.2024

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